


this winter is ours

by dessertwaffles



Series: best friends to boyfriends [2]
Category: Schitt's Creek
Genre: Alternate Universe, Christmas Presents, First Date, Fluff, Kissing, M/M, high school best friends to college boyfriends, holiday fluff, it's just really fluffy
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-12-10
Updated: 2020-12-10
Packaged: 2021-03-10 01:28:30
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,879
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27986190
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/dessertwaffles/pseuds/dessertwaffles
Summary: The drive is excruciating. David only lives 10 minutes away, but Patrick hits every red light and gets stuck behind what is potentially the slowest car in the world. Patrick is all about following the speed limit, but ten below is not acceptable, especially when hehas a first date with his best friendto get to.Or, David and Patrick are home from college for winter break and excited to finally spend time together as a couple.
Relationships: Patrick Brewer/David Rose
Series: best friends to boyfriends [2]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/2049711
Comments: 47
Kudos: 139





	this winter is ours

**Author's Note:**

> This is a sequel to my fic [we’ve got these days of summer](https://archiveofourown.org/works/27791530). I recommend you read that one first, but you could read this as a standalone if you wanted. All you need to know is that David and Patrick are high school best friends who had their first kiss the day before Patrick left for college.
> 
> An enormous thank you goes to [DesignatedGrape](https://archiveofourown.org/users/DesignatedGrape), who read this through, fixed my mistakes, and provided invaluable comments/encouragement. You’re the best!

One hour. Patrick is picking David up in one hour for their first date and he swears time must be frozen because the clock is not moving. He doesn’t know what to do with all of his nervous energy; it feels like the moment of anticipation before the drop on a rollercoaster, except that the moment has been stretching out for hours and the only thing that would stop it is if time would actually  _ move _ . He’s already cleaned his car, cleaned his room, reorganized his bookshelf, taken a walk, decided he liked his bookshelf better the way it was before, showered, and shaved. The only thing left to do is get dressed but he’s worried that his clothes will get wrinkled or sweaty so he’s saving that for the last minute. 

Patrick hasn’t seen David in four months, but they’ve remained in constant contact. True to his word, David had woken up at 7:30 am to text Patrick during his drive to college, which meant more to Patrick than he could possibly say. During all their years of friendship, he’d never once known David to voluntarily wake up early in the summer. They’d continued to text throughout the four months and video chatted at least once every weekend. Patrick can’t wait to hear all of David’s stories again in person, to watch the way his eyes sparkle, his mouth twists, his hands flail. He’s missed him so much.

Finally, after a lot of pacing, several attempts to read a book, some mindless guitar strumming, and a little more pacing, it’s time to get dressed. He puts on his favorite blue button up and his tightest pair of jeans and carefully laces up his nicest pair of shoes. Then he shrugs on his winter jacket, wraps a soft navy scarf around his neck, and shoves a knit hat into his pocket. He’ll need it later but he doesn’t want to mess up his hair before he sees David.

The drive is excruciating. David only lives 10 minutes away, but Patrick hits every red light and gets stuck behind what is potentially the slowest car in the world. Patrick is all about following the speed limit, but ten below is not acceptable, especially when Patrick  _ has a first date with his best friend _ to get to.

David is waiting for him outside when he finally arrives. He’s wearing a black peacoat and black jeans that end above his ankles and have holes in the knees because David is endearingly terrible at dressing appropriately for the weather. Patrick brought a spare hat, scarf, and pair of gloves for that exact reason.

When he sees Patrick, a smile spreads across David’s face, more radiant and beautiful in person than through a phone screen, and Patrick turns the car off, climbs out, and throws his arms around David. David’s arms engulf him, pulling him close, and Patrick feels all his nerves melt away as he relaxes into the hug. Patrick presses his lips into David’s neck, then pulls back so he can look into his dark, expressive eyes.

“Hi,” Patrick breathes, leaning in to kiss David before he has the chance to reply. His lips are soft and they taste like peppermint and four months is too long to have gone without this.

“Hi,” David says when they break apart, his hands coming to rest on Patrick’s shoulders. 

“Shall we?” Patrick asks, gesturing towards the car, because otherwise he’s going to stay here, wrapped up in David, forever.

“Lead the way.” David smiles and Patrick takes his hand for the ten second walk to the car. He can’t help it; David is finally here, next to him, and he wants to touch him as much as possible to make up for the four months when he couldn’t. Patrick opens the passenger’s side door, giving David another kiss as he climbs in. Then he heads over to the driver’s side, gets in, and backs up onto the road to head to the restaurant. 

“I don’t even know where to start,” Patrick says, reaching over and resting his hand on David’s thigh. David covers it with his own.

“Tell me about school,” David says, giving Patrick’s hand a squeeze.

“That’s a pretty broad subject,” Patrick laughs.

“Fine. Then, tell me about the cafeteria? I was very excited about unlimited food but most of it isn’t actually good? The pasta sauce somehow doesn’t taste like tomatoes and the pasta itself is usually gummy. Or hard. Sometimes both at once. But they have good desserts.”

“Fortunately I’m taking you to an Italian restaurant, so hopefully pasta can be redeemed.” Patrick glances over at David and watches his face light up. He agonized over picking the restaurant, but it seems like he made a good choice. He smiles at David’s reaction, then answers his question. “My cafeteria’s actually pretty good. They have Chicken Nugget Friday, which everyone goes wild for.”

“Oh my god, I have to come visit you,” David says.

“You’re welcome to at any time.” They’re silent for a moment, then David launches into a passionate monologue about the shortcomings of his college cafeteria, ranging from serving the incorrect type of french fries, to the lack of salad dressing options, to the many failed attempts at serving mass-prepared fish. Patrick just listens, taking it all in, letting the sound of David’s voice wash all over him.

“Hey, Patrick,” David says suddenly, in the midst of a rant about how even in the middle of New York City, the school can’t get bagels right. “What are we listening to?”

“Oh,” Patrick laughs. “That’s my school’s radio station. It somehow reaches out here so I turned it on.”

“Is there - is there a theme?” David asks, eyebrows knitted together, as the song changes from old school rock to polka.

“Nope,” Patrick says, popping the  _ p _ . “They pride themselves on playing anything.”

“I see.” David looks mildly distraught and Patrick loves it.

“You don’t like this song? I thought polka was your favorite genre.” He meets David’s eyes and spins the dial to turn the sound up. David reaches for the dial, but Patrick stops him, grabbing his hand and lacing their fingers together.

“This is my favorite song,” he deadpans.

“At least in a couple minutes, a totally different genre will play,” David groans.

“Actually, I think I heard them say it’s polka  _ hour _ .”

It’s not polka hour and the rest of the car ride passes quickly, the music changing from genre to genre as Patrick and David swap stories of their first semesters at college. 

//

They arrive at the restaurant and Patrick is suddenly nervous again. He’s been out to dinner with David countless times, but this time it’s a  _ date _ , so a bunch of butterflies have invited themselves to have a party in his stomach. A girl with curly blonde hair leads them to their booth, placing menus on either side. Patrick removes his coat and watches David’s eyes look up and down his body. 

“You look very nice,” David says, taking off his own coat and sitting down.

“Thanks,” Patrick says, feeling a blush creep into his cheeks. “You look nice too.” Which is an understatement. David is stunning in a black sweater with a large white lightning bolt down the front, his dark hair perfectly in place, his skin glowing in the light of the restaurant. 

“Your hair is longer,” David comments.

“Yeah, I didn’t have time to find a barber at school,” Patrick says, feeling shy. He’s had the same short haircut the entire time he’s known David and he’s a bit embarrassed by how much he wants David to like the curls.

“It looks good,” David says. “Really good. You should keep it long. I mean, if you want.”

Patrick smiles and opens his menu. There are  _ so many _ choices and they all sound great. Patrick regrets not spending more time studying the menu online. 

“Can we just get one of everything?” David asks, after a couple minutes of silent perusing.

Patrick laughs. “I would love to say yes, but my job at the campus library doesn’t pay much.”

“Fine,” David sighs dramatically, a teasing grin on his lips. “I’m thinking maybe the chicken parm then?”

“Always a good option. I might go with lasagna? But every time I look at the menu, I change my mind.”

“You’ll just have to stop looking at the menu.” David reaches across the table and takes Patrick’s menu, folding it up, and placing it neatly on top of his own. Their server comes over shortly afterwards and they order, then settle into their usual teasing conversation. Patrick feels himself relax; this feels normal, like any other dinner with David, except now he’s allowed to reach across the table and take David’s hand.

Their food arrives in a timely manner and David literally moans as he takes his first bite.

“Patrick, this place has saved pasta!”

Patrick grins, taking a bite of his lasagna. It’s delicious, the sauce-to-cheese-to-pasta ratio perfect, and the sauce itself robust and rich in flavor.

“How’s your roommate?” David asks, after several minutes of alone time with his food.

“He’s good. But...talkative,” Patrick admits. “I can’t do homework in the room if he’s there. He’s nice, he just never runs out of things to say.”

“I’m glad I have a single,” David says. “I don’t have to deal with that. Or coordinating the color scheme and scent profile of the room.”

“I gotta say David, I don’t think many people coordinate the  _ scent profile _ .”

“It’s very important!” David’s voice gets higher as he says it.

“I think we’re going to have to agree to disagree on this one,” Patrick jokes. “How are your classes?”

Something changes subtly in David’s face, his smile a little duller, his eyes a little guarded. If Patrick didn’t have years of practice reading David, he might not have noticed.

“They’re good,” David says, but he doesn’t elaborate and Patrick doesn’t push. He knows from experience that David will talk when he’s ready. Instead, Patrick changes the subject to the intramural badminton league he joined with a fellow business major. He describes his victories, and his failures, and the nail-biter of a game that clinched them a playoff spot, and he watches David’s smile slowly come back, his eyes growing softer and brighter.

“Can we get dessert?” David asks later, after their plates have been cleared.

Patrick laughs, shaking his head. “How in the world do you have room for dessert?”

“The second dessert stomach! I’ve told you!” David says, like it’s a scientific fact and the most obvious thing in the world.

“You can get dessert. I’ll maybe have just a bite?”

David looks like he’s about to tell Patrick to get his own dessert if he wants some, but his face softens at the last second and he smiles fondly as he says, “Sure.”

David orders chocolate cake and he lets Patrick take the first bite before eating the rest at an alarming speed. He has frosting in the corner of his mouth and Patrick is so charmed, he has to slide into David’s side of the booth and kiss him. David tastes like chocolate, mixed with the lingering peppermint of his lip balm, and it’s so intoxicating that Patrick kisses him again and again until he senses their server at the table and has to pull away. 

Patrick pays the bill, kisses David again because he can, and then they head out of the restaurant hand in hand.

//

Patrick drives them to the center of town where the annual tree lighting ceremony is taking place. He hands David the spare gloves and hat he packed, then wraps the scarf around David’s neck, tying it in a neat knot in the front.

“Thank you,” David mutters. “I, uh, I didn’t come prepared for the cold.”

“You never do,” Patrick teases, tugging him forward by the scarf and kissing his cheek, already pink from the bitter bite of cold. David holds out his arm and Patrick loops his through it and they walk to the park where a large group of people is gathered in front of a towering pine tree. The local a cappella group is singing a medley of Christmas carols, their voices in perfect harmony, the familiar tunes casting a warmth over the crowd despite the nipping wind.

“There’s hot chocolate over there,” Patrick says, pointing to a stand run by two middle-aged women wearing matching red hats.

“Yes please,” David nods. They each grab one, David gulping it down immediately. Patrick is still full from dinner, but he appreciates the heat of the drink against his gloved hands.

“It’s not as good as the hot chocolate we make,” David comments.

“You already drank all of it,” Patrick laughs. “It can’t have been that bad.”

“I mean, it’s still hot chocolate,” David says. “Speaking of which, are we still doing Hot Chocolate Day this year?”

“Of course,” Patrick replies. “We could do it tomorrow? I could get the ingredients, then pick you up?”

“Works for me,” David says, pressing a kiss to Patrick’s temple and wrapping an arm around his shoulders.

The crowd starts counting down the tree lighting and when they reach the end, the tree springs to life, multi-colored lights sparkling against the night sky. Patrick has watched this almost every year and it always feels magical, like the air is charged with holiday spirit and anything is possible. He looks over at David, rainbows dancing across his skin, lights reflecting in his eyes like tiny constellations. Patrick cups his hand behind David’s head, drawing him closer, and kissing him softly and slowly.

//

Hot Chocolate Day started four years ago when Patrick had offered David hot chocolate before realizing that they only had the instant packets and they were out of milk. Making a hot chocolate packet with water would be  _ extremely incorrect _ (David’s words), so Patrick had looked up a recipe online and convinced his mom to bring them to the grocery store to buy the ingredients. It was surprisingly simple to make and the most delicious hot chocolate either of them had ever had.

Ever since then, they’d devoted one day of winter break to making the hot chocolate, each year bringing more ingredients so they could create all sorts of flavor combinations. White chocolate peppermint had been the biggest success last year and Patrick’s attempt at chocolate-peanut-butter-banana had been a chunky, sticky flop.

This year Patrick has gone all out on toppings: whipped cream, marshmallows, crushed candy canes, caramel, maple syrup, chili powder, cinnamon, and rainbow sprinkles. He unloads his purchases while David finds a pot and turns the stove on. They have this down to a science now. Patrick measures the ingredients while David whisks them together, and halfway through, Patrick takes over whisking because David’s arm gets tired.

“What toppings are you thinking?” Patrick asks as he dumps the chocolate chips into the pot.

“Hmmm.” David looks up at the ceiling as if he might find the perfect answer there. “I might just stick with the classic whipped cream and marshmallows. And maybe also the candy canes?”

“Good choices,” Patrick says, placing his hand on David’s back and gently taking the whisk from him. He can tell David’s arm is tired. David shoots him an appreciative smile.

“I was also thinking about just using all of the ingredients,” David continues. 

“I’m sure that would be...good,” Patrick grimaces. It would be so sweet his teeth would probably rot the instant he took a sip. He gives the hot chocolate a final whisk and declares it done. David brings two mugs over and Patrick ladles a generous helping into each.

Patrick decides to go with a sprinkle of chili powder, whipped cream, and rainbow sprinkles. Once they’re done putting their drinks together, they settle onto the couch, Patrick snuggling into David’s side, for part two of their tradition: terrible Christmas movies.

David scrolls through Interflix and selects the first movie that catches his eye. It’s delightfully awful: the plot is nonsensical, the dialogue cringey, and most of the interactions between the romantic leads are inexplicably shot in a way that makes it seem like they didn’t actually film the scenes together. They sip their hot chocolate and laugh, David’s arm around Patrick’s shoulders and Patrick’s head resting against David’s chest. 

//

A few days later, they pick up burgers and fries for dinner. David is dipping a fry in ketchup when he suddenly raises his eyebrows and knits them together.

“I know I’ve complained about this before,” he begins, waving his ketchup covered fry in the air at Patrick, “but my school just does not understand which french fries to serve. Crinkle cut fries every day is  _ incorrect _ . They’re fine once in a while, but no one wants them  _ every _ day.”

“What fries should they serve?” Patrick asks, amused. He has no strong french fry preferences. A fried potato is a fried potato, but he would never tell David that.

“There are so many options! Shoestring fries, curly fries, steak fries, waffle fries. And, yet, they serve the same kind every week. Would it kill them to mix it up?” He does a combination shimmy-slash-body-roll as he says  _ mix it up _ .

“I’ve filled out comment cards about it. I even changed my handwriting so they’d think it was coming from multiple people. But nothing!” He throws his head back and sighs dramatically.

Patrick pats his knee and looks him right in the eye. “Are you going to be okay?”

“Unclear,” David says. “Unclear if I’m going to be okay or not.”

Patrick kisses the worried look off his face, then continues eating his burger.

“How are these fries?”

“These are good. These are what the school  _ should _ serve.” David emphasizes his point by shoving four into his mouth at once.

“I think you should probably start a letter writing campaign. Maybe hang posters around the campus. Get the whole school to sign a petition.”

“Mm, that sounds like a lot of work, but it might have to come to that.”

They spend the rest of dinner talking about french fries, David somehow never running out of steam. Patrick doesn’t mind; it’s one of the things he loves about David, how passionate he gets about things that matter to him. They clean up the kitchen table when they’re done, then start to head upstairs, Patrick hoping to get some alone time with his boyfriend.

Before they reach the top of the stairs, Patrick hears his mom’s voice.

“Hey Patrick! Do you boys want to watch a movie? Your father and I are just about to start one.”

“I think we’re good!” Patrick yells back, hoping his voice carries.

“What?”

He sighs and heads back downstairs, David right behind him.

“I think we’re good,” Patrick repeats once they reach the living room. His mom is curled underneath a quilt she’d made a couple years ago and his dad is sitting in his favorite chair, his feet already up on the recliner. 

“Okay, honey,” she says pleasantly. “What were you boys going to do?”

“Um, just hang out in my room I think,” Patrick mutters. He feels a blush start to creep into his cheeks as he sees both his parents looking at him, which prompts him to panic and blurt out, “We’re going to play chess!”

“We have a set in the game closet,” his dad says, a hint of amusement in his voice. He glances over at his mom and she’s wearing the same expression. 

“Great, thanks,” Patrick says, grabbing David’s arm and leading him to the game closet. He quickly locates the chess set and they head upstairs again.

“Chess?” David asks once Patrick closes his bedroom door, a lopsided smirk on his face.

“I panicked!” Patrick exclaims, throwing his hands up in the air.

David laughs and raises an eyebrow. “So, do you actually want to play, or...?”

“Believe it or not, I do not want to play chess,” Patrick says, sitting down on his bed and patting the spot beside him.

“That’s a bummer because I actually only came up here to play chess.” David opens the box and starts taking the pieces out, his teasing grin sparkling in his eyes.

“David.”

“What?” He asks innocently, taking more pieces out and arranging them on the board. Patrick knows enough about chess to know that none of them are in the right starting position. 

“ _ David _ .”

“What?”

“Just come over here.”   
  
“Should I bring the chess board?”

“Please don’t.” Patrick rolls his eyes, fondly exasperated, as David finally sits down next to him on the bed.

“What did you want to do instead?” David asks, lowering his voice and shimmying his shoulders. Patrick puts his hand on David’s thigh and leans in to finally kiss him. David’s hands come up to hold Patrick’s face as he kisses him back. His hands travel to Patrick’s shoulders as they kiss, resting there for a while until he trails them down Patrick’s arms, leaving sparks of electricity in their path. Patrick suddenly needs him to be closer. He runs his hand up David’s back, to his neck, tangling it in his hair, and he pulls him forward, adjusting the angle and deepening their kiss.

David’s hand goes into Patrick’s curls and tugs and Patrick feels himself gasp into David’s mouth. He’s definitely keeping his hair long if this is what it feels like to have David’s fingers running through it. He’s imagined this countless times, but he never thought it would feel  _ this _ good. Every nerve is alight, every synapse firing, his brain a steady stream of  _ DavidDavidDavid _ . Then David starts to gently guide him backwards and  _ god yes _ he wants that, so he grabs David’s waist and pulls him forward until they’re lying on the bed, David on top of him.

He runs his fingers through David’s gorgeous, meticulously styled hair as David moves from his mouth to his jaw, then kisses down to his neck.

“David,” he breathes. David stops what he’s doing to look at Patrick and Patrick’s breath hitches in his throat because  _ wow  _ he’s beautiful.

“Is this okay?” David asks breathlessly, his lips wet, his cheeks flushed.

“Yes, definitely,” Patrick assures him, pulling David’s mouth down to meet his own again. After a minute, David kisses down to his neck again, pulling his shirt aside to kiss his collarbone as well. Patrick’s hands run down David’s back, stopping at the hem of his shirt.

“Can I?” he asks, fiddling with the hem, feeling the plush material between his fingers.

“Yes.”

Patrick slips his hands under David’s shirt. His skin is soft and warm and it feels incredible under Patrick’s fingers. David’s mouth is on his again and he’s kissing him like he could never get enough, which is exactly how Patrick feels, and it’s too much and not enough and Patrick  _ loves  _ it.

David is working on untucking Patrick’s shirt when they hear a knock on the door. They look at each other in surprise, frozen for a moment, before David rolls off of Patrick.

“Patrick!” It’s his mom. Patrick groans and quickly runs his hand through his hair and down his shirt, trying to straighten himself out, before he opens the door just enough so that he can peak his head out.

“Hi,” he says.

“I’m making popcorn for your father and I. Do you boys want some?”

“Not right now,” Patrick says, moving to close the door. “But thank you.”

“Actually, popcorn would be nice,” David says, now sitting up on the bed, his usually perfect hair a mess. Patrick glares at him.

“What?” David asks, holding his hands up in mock surrender. “I’m hungry!”

“We’ll have some,” Patrick sighs, turning back to his mom.

“I’ll bring it up in five minutes!”

“Your mom makes really good popcorn,” David says when Patrick rejoins him on the bed. Patrick laughs; David is ridiculous but he wouldn’t have him any other way.

“You should probably try to fix your hair before she comes back,” Patrick tells him. “I, uh, I really messed it up.”

//

They exchange Christmas presents on the twenty-third. Patrick is visiting his aunt and uncle on Christmas Eve and staying over for Christmas Day, so they won’t be able to see each other on the actual holiday.

They’re sitting on the floor of Patrick’s bedroom, their knees touching. Patrick hands David a navy blue gift bag with light blue tissue paper neatly arranged on top (he’d asked his dad for his expert gift-wrapping assistance). Patrick’s stomach twists into knots, his hands getting sweaty, as David removes the paper and peeks into the bag. He’s pretty sure David is going to like what’s inside, but that doesn’t stop his nerves.

He watches a soft smile spread across David’s face as he takes the present out of the bag. It’s a black leather sketchbook with David’s initials engraved in fancy script in the bottom right corner. He flips through it gently, his eyes widening.

“You even got the weight of the paper right!” David says fondly, reaching over and squeezing Patrick’s knee.

“Of course,” Patrick says. “Too thin and the ink bleeds through, too thick and the pages are rigid and hard to turn.” David has many  _ many _ opinions and Patrick has catalogued them all.

“Thank you for this.” David leans in and presses a soft kiss to Patrick’s lips.

“There’s something else at the bottom of the bag,” Patrick says. David pulls out a small envelope and looks at Patrick, a question in his eyes. 

“It’s a gift card. I wanted to get you pens or pencils to draw with but I didn’t trust myself to pick out the right ones. So I thought maybe we could go pick them out together,” Patrick explains.

“Thank you,” David says again. He passes Patrick a present wrapped in silver and gold patterned paper. Patrick unwraps it carefully, trying to keep the paper intact, which ends up being very difficult because David uses  _ so much tape _ . He turns the present over and feels his breath leave his chest.

It’s a watercolor painting of the field where they had their picnic four months ago. The sky is streaked with pinks, purples, and oranges, all gorgeously blended and the field and trees are rendered flawlessly in shades of green. In the bottom right corner, he can see David’s loopy signature. Patrick blinks away tears as he looks over at David.

“You painted this?”

“Yeah,” David says, sounding shy.

“David, this is amazing.”

“I, um. I went back a couple days after you left and took pictures. I wanted to remember it.”

“Thank you, David,” Patrick says, wrapping his arms around David in a tight hug that hopefully says everything he’s feeling. “This is incredible.”

He feels David smile into his shoulder. They hug for a long while, until Patrick can’t not be kissing him and loosens his grip slightly to make that happen. He’s in awe of what David created for him, completely blown away by the beautiful, talented, thoughtful boy in his arms. 

“The frame is very nice too,” Patrick says when they break apart.

“Yeah, well, I  _ am  _ minoring in frame selection,” David jokes and Patrick laughs, pulling him in for another kiss.

//

They’re sitting on the couch on a snowy January evening, curled up underneath a soft, fuzzy blanket, when Patrick’s mom comes in and tells them that the snow has gotten worse.

“It’s not safe to drive in,” she says, worry etched into her kind face. “I think David should probably stay over.”

“Thank you, Mrs. Brewer,” David says, smiling up at her.

“I’ll go get the guest room ready.” Which,  _ what _ ? David has always slept over in Patrick’s room. There’s an air mattress and a memory foam mattress pad stuffed under Patrick’s bed for that very reason. He gets up from the couch and follows his mom.

“Mom, he can just stay in my room,” Patrick says. “He’s always stayed in my room before.”

“He wasn’t your boyfriend before,” she replies.

“But -”

“I’m sorry, honey.”

“Fine,” Patrick huffs, turning around and heading back to David.

//

Later that night, they’re lying under the covers in the guest room, David snuggled up to Patrick’s chest. Patrick figures the loophole to the situation is that he can stay with David until his eyes literally won’t stay open anymore and then he’ll trudge upstairs to his own bed.

He’s running his fingers gently through David’s silky hair, his boyfriend sighing in contentment. It’s peaceful, the moonlight washing in through the cracks in the blinds, casting an ethereal glow on everything it touches. Patrick could stay like this forever, drinking in David’s scent, pressing soft kisses to his forehead, feeling the rise and fall of his breath.

They lie in silence for a long while, until Patrick feels David tense up against him.

“What’s on your mind?” he asks gently.

David hesitates for so long, Patrick isn’t sure he heard the question. Then he lets out a deep breath and whispers, “Just thinking about next week.”

This time David is leaving for school first. Patrick has been avoiding thinking about it; he’s been enjoying every moment of his month with David and he doesn’t want it to come to an end.

“I’m not looking forward to it either,” Patrick says, finding David’s hand and threading their fingers together. “I’m going to miss you.”

“I’ll miss you too,” David says, giving Patrick’s hand a squeeze and turning on his side so they can see each other better. “It’s, um, it’s not just that, though.”

“Okay.” Patrick purposely doesn’t ask for clarification, giving David space to say what he needs in his own time. He rubs his thumb over the back of David’s hand while he waits.

“You know how in our small high school, everyone thought I was really good at art?” David begins, voice quiet and unsure. Patrick nods. “Well, now I’m in a class full of people who were all really good at art in high school. And I just feel...like I don’t belong? Like I’m not good enough? I see what everyone else is doing and...I don’t know…they’re just so much better than me.”

David’s eyes are glistening with tears and Patrick’s heart breaks a little as he pulls David into a tight hug, rubbing circles into his back. David is so talented and so passionate, but Patrick doesn’t think that’s what he needs to hear right now. At least not yet.

“Do you like making art?” Patrick tries, when David’s tears have slowed down.

David gives him a funny look, but he says, “Yes.”

“What do you like about it?”

“Um. I like...I like seeing something in my head and putting it on paper.” He fiddles with the blanket on the bed, worrying it between his fingers. 

“Anything else?”

“And, uh, capturing things that are important to me.”

“Okay,” Patrick says softly, reaching up to wipe an errant tear falling down David’s cheek. “Then that’s why you should make art. That’s what you should focus on. Not being better than someone else, but capturing things that are important to you.”

“That, um, that - I guess that makes sense,” David murmurs. “But it’s hard.”

“I know,” Patrick soothes, reaching for David’s hand again. “It’s not going to happen overnight. But when you catch yourself thinking that everyone else is better than you, try to remind yourself why you love making art.”

“Thanks,” David says, a ghost of a smile on his lips. “When did you get so wise?”

“My dad told me something similar when I was beating myself up for not hitting home runs in baseball,” Patrick says. He pauses and knocks his knee into David’s thigh. “And, for what it’s worth, I think you’re incredibly talented.” 

The ghost of David’s smile becomes corporeal, the edges of his lips turning upwards, a sparkle twinkling in his eyes.

“Thank you,” he says again. Patrick presses a kiss to his forehead, then both his cheeks, and the tip of his nose.

“You can always call me if you want to talk about this when you’re at school.” Patrick runs a hand gently through David’s hair and drops another kiss on his forehead.

“I will,” David breathes, some of the tension he was carrying melting away as he snuggles into Patrick’s side. 

//

David stops by Patrick’s house a couple hours before he has to head back to school. Patrick greets him with a hug and ushers him inside, where he’s laid out David’s favorite snacks on the kitchen table. David’s smile spreads wide across his face at the sight and he immediately digs in.

“How are you feeling?” Patrick asks, grabbing a handful of chips for himself.

“All right,” David says. “Not looking forward to the cafeteria food.”

Patrick laughs. “Keep me updated on your french fry vendetta.”

“Oh, I will,” David assures him. “If they get rid of crinkle cut fries, you will be the first to know.”

They eat the rest of the snacks, then move to the couch, Patrick putting his arm around David’s waist and pulling him close.

“This is random, but, um, could we take a picture together?” Patrick asks. “I was scrolling through my phone and I realized we’ve done so much this break, but never actually took a picture.”

“Sure,” David says, pulling out his phone. He holds it up in the air and they both smile into the camera as he takes the picture. Patrick kisses David’s cheek and he takes another one.

“I’ll text those to you right now.”   
  
“Thanks,” Patrick says, feeling his phone vibrate in his pocket moments later. He takes it out and looks through the pictures; they both look so happy, joy radiating from each of their faces. He’s going to have to print one out for his dorm room.

They spend the rest of their time tangled up on the couch, trading stories and kisses, laughing and teasing and making the most of their time together. Eventually an alarm sounds on David’s phone, signaling that he has to leave. Patrick walks him to the door, pulling him into a hug and a lingering kiss.

“Text me when you get there,” Patrick says, arms still around David’s waist, fingers tracing patterns into his back.

“Of course,” David promises, pulling Patrick’s chin forward to bring their lips together once more.

“I’ll see you in four months,” Patrick says. “This time we’ll have the whole summer.”

“I can’t wait,” David says, wrapping Patrick in one more hug and pressing two kisses to his temple. David has to leave after that or he’ll be late and Patrick watches him until he’s out of sight, a bittersweet smile on his face. He heads back inside and up to his bedroom, sitting on his bed and pulling out his phone to change his background to one of the pictures they took earlier. He smiles at the sight of it, then switches over to his messaging app to send David a text.

_ I miss you already. Have a great semester <3 _

He gets a reply almost instantly.

_ Miss you too. Thanks for a great winter break <3 _

**Author's Note:**

> I’m on [tumblr](https://dessertwaffles.tumblr.com/) if you want to say hi :)


End file.
